Unforgettable
by Sweet Misa
Summary: Set in America during Prohibition, Sherlock Holmes comes to Boston to investigate the death of his rival, Jim Moriarty only to discover the involvement of a certain pathologist – AU – Sherlolly
1. Chapter 1

Unforgettable: Set in America during Prohibition, Sherlock Holmes comes to Boston to investigate the death of his rival, Jim Moriarty. – AU –

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of these characters.

**Author's Note:** This is my first attempt to get into the mind set of Sherlock. I really wasn't sure if I should do it, but this story just popped in my head, so here we are. More then likely Sherlolly love will come around.

**Prologue: The Game Is On**

He had only been in Boston for twelve hours and already Sherlock Holmes had been berated by a detective, bruised and broken his nose, frightened an old woman, flirted his way into a suspect's home, entangled in _that_ woman's web, spilled with hot tea, taken on the worse cab ride of his life, knocked out, had a bag over his head, and tied up to a chair.

"You really don't need to tie me up." Sherlock announced. "The bag over my head is useless as well. I know we're at St. Bart's. In the basement, a bit musty. Judging by the mixing of odors I would say healing is done here in a variety of ways. Very bad moon shine. You should get a different supplier."

He could hear footsteps. He was tied to a chair in the middle of an abandoned hospital turned speakeasy with alcohol filling the air. He could smell the sweat. Heavy men. A great deal of them. Approximately eight at the most, three if they were practically big and worked too much. He could hear their heavy sighs and heavy footprints as they came at him. Sherlock wondered exactly how Prohibition had meant to halt the sale of liquor when he could clearly smell it wafting in the air. The police force certainly weren't doing a good job keeping things under control if the production of alcohol was being produced right under their noses, very literally.

"Word is that bad moonshine can make you go blind. Blind customers are not really ideal in your line of work." The bag was yanked off his head violently.

He quickly spotted them. Two identical men, brothers, twins, large hands, large heads, defensive by their stance. The one holding the bag from his head was a bit more passive, while the other brother held a stronger stance. He made a note of it. He peered around the room seeing that barrels upon barrels of alcohol were being stacked across the room. Eight men in total. He gave a smug smile across his face.

"And I am certain your boss needs me for a particular reason." He peered from to each twin. The passive one shifted his eyes. The other one looked hard at him, a warning puckered on his lips. "Perhaps he is the one who killed Moriarty."

"You don't know Mr. Holmes?" His face snapped up hearing the voice, the shoes coming forward. The footsteps weren't large and heavy. They were soft and careful. "Surely twelve hours was enough to solve the case. Jim always said you work fast. Haven't you solved it?" His eyes widened when he saw the outline of the figure. His eyes widened.

He hadn't seen it.

Why hadn't he seen it?

* * *

Off the ship, he had spent five seconds in Boston and he was already bored.

Bored. Bored. Bored.

Sherlock Holmes took in the failed sea air. Despite the fact that America had banned alcohol the midafternoon air reeked of all kinds of illegal acts. Illegal activity wasn't his game. Murder was his game. More importantly James Moriarty's murder. His rival in the criminal underworld had been quiet in London for the past six months. Sherlock had mused he had decided on a new playground once Prohibition went under way. The Irish consulting criminal would be in paradise in the underworld of America. He had never suspected he would die on foreign soil. He was too smart to die. Too smart to get caught at his own game.

He was greeted on the docking bay by a Detective Lestrade, British, married to an American woman, judging by the brand of cologne clinging to him. She wasn't an easy woman to deal with. He could by how straight and in place everything was on him above the waist. Below the waist Lestrade seemed a mess. He could also see the small signs of a powerful emotion. Sherlock merely decided to note that he looked worn out.

"The ever famous Sherlock Holmes." The detective greeted with a glimmer of a smile. He shook his hand roughly like any man would. A firm manly grip. Sherlock nodded to the officer. "You've come for Moriarty then." He shook his head putting his hands on his hips. "Didn't know we had the famous Irish gangster in our midst until we found him dead of course." He tapped the file on his hip. Sherlock reached for it. The detective hesitantly handed it to him.

"Surely my brother has vouched for me." Sherlock's eyes were only on the file, the pictures.

Moriarty had been shot in the brain. It had been declared an apparent suicide though who ever had staged the crime had left purposeful clues that it was not so. The gun was in the wrong hand. The bullet wound was at the wrong side of the temple. The dead man's hands were raw and red from a fight. Sherlock quivered at the thought of Moriarty ever being terrified. He was always the one doing the terrorizing. James Moriarty would not simply be brought down by fear. He was a spider with his constant weaving of webs. He had wrapped himself in a web to grand even for him to escape. He had been terrified in his last moments. Sherlock could see those eyes widened with fear at his own demise.

That would never be him. Sherlock swore it to himself.

"He has." Lestrade stated looking Sherlock over. He flipped through the file outside the quiet loading dock. "Says you were one of the best in the academy. Could have been a detective inspector if you really wanted to, but you –"

"Yes, yes, I am a miserable failure to my family." He waved his hand before pushing something closer to his face. He snapped the file closed. He pushed the receipt under Lestrade's nose. "What's this?"

"A receipt." Sherlock rolled his eyes at Lestrade.

"Clearly." He huffed. "Was this on Moriarty? Blood is spattered in the corner. Where is this General Store?" The detective looked to it closely peering at it.

"Ah, yah." Detective Lestrade remembered the receipt. "We narrowed it down to a few places then we –"

"Yes, yes, that's all good and lovely and any other time I would be elated to hear your process," Sherlock Holmes lied pushing the file to Lestrade's chest. He caught it. The visiting consulting detective snapped cupped palms to Lestrade's shoulders. He grinned at Lestrade.

"He was at the store before he died. Last known location. Where?" The detective almost seemed frightened by the glee in Sherlock Holmes' eyes as he spoke.

He had never seen someone so happy to solve a murder.


	2. Chapter 2

Unforgettable: Set in America during Prohibition, Sherlock Holmes comes to Boston to investigate the death of his rival, Jim Moriarty. – AU –

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of these characters.

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed so far. It's a slow build up to the actual plot and exciting stuff, but I promise next chapter will have some interesting turns. For now we get some subtle Sherlolly.

**Chapter One: Innocent Until Proven Horrified**

"What can I help you with, Dearie?" Mrs. Hudson, who owned the general store asked.

"Jim Moriarty died a few nights ago. Shot in the head." Sherlock Holmes slapped the photo on the counter, which contained the gruesome bloody gunshot to the temple that had ended Moriarty's life. The elderly woman placed her hands over her mouth horrified.

"Goodness!" She declared teary eyed.

"What did he say when he came here the night he was killed? Did he talk to anyone?" Sherlock leaned forward toward the woman and over the counter. His dark wool coat caught the edges of counter.

"I've already told the police everything." She squealed. Sherlock saw this was going to be bloody useless by the way she was beginning to sob.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade had rushed after him after he ran off. Sherlock hid the photo under his coat as the detective approached. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson. This is Sherlock Holmes. Expert from London."

"Consulting detective." He mumbled at the detective leaning against the counter lazily. Lestrade rolled his eyes and ignored him.

"He's working on the Moriarty case." Lestrade assured the older woman. "He believes that Moriarty's coming in 'ere was something of interest." Sherlock began to look around the store. Nothing special, just sweets, food products, and hardware. Weapons. He could see nearly a dozen - no two dozen - ways Moriarty could have defended himself with these hard wares, but he hadn't bought any of these, he had bought –

"Were you aware of Jim Moriarty's involvement in making of alcohol?" Sherlock looked directly into Mrs. Hudson's surprised expression. He squinted his eyes studying her carefully. He grinned gleefully. "Got you." He pressed his hands on the counter swinging himself over it causing Mrs. Hudson to yelp. Lestrade called his name. "You were in on the creation of alcohol with Moriarty. Perhaps unwillingly. He may have had something. Probably the crimes of your recently deceased husband. Probably an involvement in the death of your criminal husband."

"How did you-"

"Tan line on your ring finger," Sherlock pointed out. "You sell quite a lot of products needed to make moonshine." He pronounced the m widening his eyes with a mocking tone as he stalked her. Lestrade could only watch on mouth agape. "Wearing only the smallest bit of black. In mourning, but not too badly." He noted Mrs. Hudson's black pleated skirt and her heavy white sweater. "Moriarty only got yeast, sugar, and cornmeal, all the ingredients to make proper moonshine." He then turned to Lestrade. "I've been studying up on the dealings of criminals in the American system." He then turned back to a cowering Mrs. Hudson. "You didn't report it to the police."

"I didn't know." She squeaked out.

"Come now, Mrs. Hudson." He reached behind the counter for a clear long necked bottle. There was a small pool of clear liquid whirling inside as he shook it about. Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened as Sherlock untwisted the cap. He took a whiff. "A so so attempt at gin." He saw Mrs. Hudson's face slowly calm. She wasn't pulling off her innocence any longer. She was caught red handed. "Now, Mrs. Hudson please tell me, truthfully, what location Moriarty brought his supplies." He caught her shoulders and her eyes widened.

"I don't know!" She declared shaking. "Jim was a rather sweet young man. He came in here because he said I reminded him of his mum. Said he missed home. Hated the way –"

"Yes, yes. He hated how your husband treated you so he decided to have him killed and threatened to frame you if you didn't supply him with the proper ingredients for his booming business for a reasonable price. He could have gotten them for free of course, but" He looked to Lestrade. "He knew coming here so often and not buying a single thing would be of great suspicion." He whipped his head back at the older woman. She gasped when he got in her face. "Now tell me, where did dear Jim frequent most often?"

* * *

St. Bart's. A hospital. Why on Earth would Jim Moriarty frequent a hospital?

"Hello." She was bright eyed when she greeted them behind the counter.

The young woman searched Sherlock Holmes' eyes with a happy tone in her voice and nibbling her lip. Attraction. It was pitiful to see it so clearly in a young woman. He had only been in front of her for mere seconds and already her pupils were dilated with excitement. The lip nibble only further proved his point.

"C-c-can I help you?" British. She had on a nurse's white hat and a nurse maid's uniform behind the window box in the hospital. Her voice was as small as her mouth. Her lower lip almost disappeared inside of that poor excuse for a mouth.

"Moriarty." She blinked at the name Sherlock pronounced. He pushed the photo forward of his bleed out body. The young brown eyed woman peered at it.

"Goodness." She seemed almost delighted. It was something that shocked Sherlock. Her eyes looked up. "Greg why didn't we get this lovely little thing?" Sherlock peered over his shoulder to see a smiling Lestrade nodding slowly. His smile was something of interest, changing when he looked to the small pathologist. He gleamed with interest. It was not of importance. Not of interest to Sherlock Holmes.

"Not our division." He stated with the tiniest of nods. "I don't decide where the body goes." She merely shook her head pushing the photo toward Sherlock.

"Such a pity. It looks like a nice little murder. Would have had a field day with him." Sherlock had never heard a woman talk so frankly about death or murder. The young woman looked to him. "Oh sorry. I do autopsies. Well I assist on autopsies."

"Miss Hooper's father owns the hospital." Lestrade stated. "Now Molly," He addressed her curtly and almost carefully. Like a father would address a daughter. He almost pushed Sherlock aside. The younger man took a step aside, merely to see how Lestrade worked with this young lady. The detective leaned forward on his elbows at the small window box's counter. "Our investigation,"

"Our?" Sherlock asked arching an eyebrow.

"Yes, our." Lestrade looked harshly at the young Holmes. He then turned to a clearly uncertain Molly Hooper. "Our investigation has led us here." He tapped his finger on the counter poking it. She leaned forward nodding. Sherlock could see that Molly's interest was only out of politeness. "The man we're investigating, Moriarty, is dead."

"Clearly, Greg." She gave a crooked smile.

Despite her quaint girly appearance Miss Hooper seemed to have a backbone to her, though she remained very polite despite this. Sherlock would never admit aloud that he liked that little spark, but the upturn of his lip gave him away. She saw this and ducked her head. He noted the blush spreading across her puffy cheeks. Her under eyes seemed to be a bit reddened. Tears. Crying. She had been crying.

"Well, yes, of course," He tried to continue on. "He was seen at Mrs. Hudson's General Store the night he was killed. Apparently Mrs. Hudson was supplying him with products to make moonshine."

"Really?" She beamed suddenly interested. Her head gave a slight poke out. "Oh poor Mrs. Hudson." She shook her head. "Has she been charged with anything?"

"No, we're – I'm," He shook his head at the correction. "Letting the charges drop if she told us more information about this James Moriarty. She said he frequented here quite a bit." She blinked pressing her lips together and wrinkling her brow. She looked to Lestrade. "Would you happen to remember him? Maybe a man named Jim. M. Anything like that?" Molly seemed to be in thought. Sherlock reached inside his coat for the picture again.

"Perhaps you'd like to take another look." Sherlock pushed the picture against the counter at the window box. Lestrade stopped him shaking his head.

"Sherlock." He hissed. "That's not going to be –"

"I've seen much worse detective." She slipped the photo from them. "Now then let's have a look at Jim." She studied the photo carefully leaning forward. Her lips twitched ever so slightly. "Hmmm," She pressed a finger up looking to the two. "Oh yes, right. Irene's man."

"Irene?" Lestrade questioned.

"Yes, well, Nurse Adler." Molly squeaked. "She has a lot of men who want her attention, but Jim," She poked at the bloody head of Jim Moriarty spread out on his apartment floor, brains blown to bits. "He was her man of the week. He came in here quite a lot. Never while I was on duty at the front desk mind you. He once popped his head in while I was assisting Doctor Stamford on Mrs. Wilson's body. Terrible case. Suicide over her poor baby's death. I remember doing the autopsy on the baby." She shook her head sighing slightly. "He said he got a bit turned around looking for Irene. Called her by her first name. Nobody calls Irene by her first name, but me and a few other girls here. Men call her Nurse Adler or Ms. Adler. I knew then that Jim was something special to Irene."

"Where is she?" Sherlock Holmes asked with sudden urgency. Molly blinked.

"It's her day off today so she'd be at home."

"Where's home?" Sherlock pressed. Molly shook her head.

"I don't think," She looked to Lestrade. "I don't think I'm allowed to tell you that information." The detective nodded.

"She's right. You can't just –"

"Miss Hooper," He reached through the window gently letting his eye contact focus on her. "I'm practically aware of the nature of this situation, but you must understand," He let his hands take in her delicate finger tips. She allowed him to hold her hand fully, cheeks flushed, teeth crushing the corner of her lower lip, and chin pointed eagerly forward. "This is of grave importance." She tipped her head. "Now will you please tell me where exactly Ms. Adler resides?"

It was then that her lips started to move.


	3. Chapter 3

**Unforgettable:** Set in America during Prohibition, Sherlock Holmes comes to Boston to investigate the death of his rival, Jim Moriarty. – AU –

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of these characters.

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who's been reading and all those who have reviewed so far. I'm pretty sure this is one of my favorite things I have written.

**Chapter Two: The Woman**

"That was really rather rude Sherlock." Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes were two blocks away from Ms. Adler's home. The younger man tucked his coat around him wincing at the air and the buzzing noises that came with city life.

"I merely used her obvious infatuation with me to gain information."

"Obvious?" Lestrade almost seemed offended. They were at the door Miss Hooper had told them the woman lived at.

"Yes obvious." Sherlock shook his head. "Clearly Scotland Yard did not need your presence. I don't know how you keep your current occupation."

"Alright Mr. Holmes, how about you lead on this one. Do a bit investigation? Because clearly I can't –"

"Oiy!" Someone shouted from above them. Lestrade and Sherlock looked up to see a woman with long dark wet hair leaning out a window. Her lips were ruby in color. She tapped long nails against her chin. "Are you boys looking for me?"

"Depends," Lestrade took a step back yelling upwards. "Would you be Ms. Irene Adler?"

"I would be." She seemed quite pleasant. Sherlock couldn't read her from that high up, though he could tell she was naked, just got out from a shower, though vain enough to paint her lips on. "And who might you gentlemen be? I don't think I've seen you boys around." Her tone was toying. Pets. Sherlock could know that. She was a lady who knew how to be in control. He wondered why Moriarty would have any interest in this woman, unless he was using her.

"Police!" Sherlock shone a badge up at the woman. "We'd just like to question you, Ms. Adler." The woman seemed to twist her head looking at the shiny badge the younger of the men held up. "About James Moriarty."

"Officers," She said with no lingering of seduction. It was in full force. "I'll let you in." she turned shutting her window.

"When did you take that?" Lestrade tore his badge from Sherlock's hand. He tucked it back into his pocket. "Why did you take that?"

"Got bored while you were flirting."

"I wasn't flirting." Sherlock could see his body posture told him Lestrade meant something different then his words. His hands were defensively on his hips. "Miss Hooper happens to be a very good friend of mine. Occasionally our dead bodies end up on Bart's tables. We've developed a friendship."

"Yes, friendship, clearly." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'm married for God's sake!" Lestrade declared.

"Well that doesn't stop your wife now does it." That when Sherlock felt the fist of the detective meet his nose. He winced feeling himself stumble. He felt the bruising start to form, blood trickled down. Lestrade was shaking his hand.

"Oh now are you sure you're the police." Ms. Adler was in a very sheer green robe leaning against the open doorway. "Because you're acting like a bunch of school aged children to me."

"May we come up?" Lestrade said through gritted teeth. Sherlock nodded cupping his hands over his nose. She covered her mouth politely looking at the younger man.

"What kind of nurse would I be if I refused a patient?" She motioned them both forward.

They walked up the stairs. Sherlock could see the outline of Miss Adler's round posterior. Lestrade seemed to eagerly take steps forward. The pair shared eye contact as Sherlock covered his nose. He looked at the detective judgingly. The man knew he was in the wrong for ogling the woman.

"Now this is about Jim, right?" Irene's hair flowed wrinkled behind her as she reached the top of her stairs. "Poor Jim, I heard about what happened. He was quite a fantastic lover." She folded her arms over her chest. Her door was open. She motioned the men inside. "How bad is it? Do we have a gusher 'ere?" Sherlock was face to face with the lovely woman.

She held a strength in her that rivaled Sherlock's. She was quite aware of how she was presenting herself. She used it to the best of her abilities. She slowly removed his hands taking them in her own as the real officer went inside the home.

"Oh not so bad. Just some bruising. It's not broken." She tapped the spot where his blood had drizzled out. "You bleed so pretty, Officer," She suckled on her now bloody fingertip. She lapped up his blood rubbing her white teeth. "But you aren't a police officer are you Mr. Holmes." He looked at her blankly, but saw she was looking down. His wallet was open in her palm. She grinned. Sherlock looked to her wide eyed.

"Was your relationship with Jim Moriarty se-"

"Sexual?" She gleamed brightly at the word. It was her favorite word, Sherlock concluded. "Yes, very. Like I said he was a fantastic lover." Her body quivered at the right spots, but Sherlock wasn't convinced.

"Do you take on many lovers, Miss Adler?" Sherlock swallowed slowly. He usually didn't ask these sort of questions, but it was needed. Necessary.

"Not all at one time if that is what you're implying Mr. Holmes." Oh she liked this. She liked the questions. She thought this was a game. Sherlock knew it was a game. She was glad to play it.

"It's not." He insisted. "A beautiful single woman like yourself must have many men chasing after you. Some men are very territorial when it comes to attractive sexual women like yourself."

"Oh Mr. Holmes." She sounded so condescending. "Do you think Jim's death was that simple?" She looked him over patting his cheek. "Oh I see you really don't. You're on the right track, but you," She leaned forward letting her lips linger at his ear. "You can't let the detective know why you're really here. That they got beat in calling in the great Sherlock Holmes." She backed away giving a triumphant smile.

It was true while the Lestrade had called Sherlock to Boston someone else had offered a very high price to find out who killed James Moriarty. Sherlock was never one for getting a case simply on funds. He simply solved cases because something about them called to him. Whoever had hired him knew about his past with Moriarty. His employer knew that they were equals in intelligence, the consulting criminal and the consulting detective.

"You were made for each other." The man, rough and American, said at the other end of the phone. "Wouldn't you like to know what ended him so that you will not meet the same fate?"

Sherlock Holmes had not planned on dying anytime soon so he took the case. Minutes had gone by when Mycroft had come in with Boston's pleas that he help them solve the same case. How Irene Adler knew he was working for two people was a complete mystery to him. He saw nothing, but a smugness on her face. Perhaps she worked for his employer as well.

"Oh stop flirting and come inside!" Lestrade shouted. Miss Adler's palm gave a light slap against his cheekbones.

"Wouldn't want to keep the real detective waiting." She said softly before moving inside. Sherlock snapped his teeth together frustrated at the woman. He reluctantly followed her inside. Her home was quite lovely. The record was on playing a classical song. Sherlock recognized it.

"Johan Sebastian Bach." Sherlock mused toward the record player. Miss Adler faked being impressed and motioned for Lestrade to sit on her white sofa rather than picking at the antiques she had scattered about her home.

"Very good Mr. Holmes. It was Jim's favorite." She handed him back his wallet. "You should keep a good tight hold of this." He snatched the wallet. He could see Lestrade's grin from the corner of his eye.

"This is a very nice place you have here, Ms. Adler." The woman turned with Sherlock to see Lestrade lounging around on the sofa. "A bit expensive for a nurse's salary." She folded her arms defensively swaying her hips slightly. Sherlock could see it suddenly he lifted his head nodding with a grin on his face. Her brow lowered seeing that shameless grin.

"I have another job." She tried to say it proudly, but Sherlock noted the shame. He also noted the riding crop placed gently in the corner beside the ticking grandfather clock.

"Oh well now must pay very well." Lestrade seemed to drop it at that. "So Ms. Adler, you were seeing Jim before he died. Is that right?"

"I saw him on and off." She tilted her head going to her left toward the small kitchen that blended in with her living room. She had a kettle on.

"Was he one of your clients?" Sherlock wondered tossing his head back at her. Her eyes, green and angry, narrowed at him as she poured her tea.

"Her what?"

"Oh didn't you notice, Detective Lestrade," He watched her carefully pick the wide striped blue and white tea cup to her lips. "Ms. Adler is a dominatrix in her spare time." She let a soft chuckle murmur across her lips. Her hand swung back as she splashed her tea at Sherlock's chest. He stumbled back.

"What?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock winced patting his chest. "Was he, Ms. Adler?" She only grinned watching Sherlock squirm fanning his coat revealing that his white button up shirt was now stained to see his abs.

"My, my Mr. Holmes aren't we in very good shape." She grinned tickling his abs. He grabbed her wrist pressing his fingers to her pulse, elevated. Good, very good. He could use that.

"I think you might want to answer the question Ms. Adler." Sherlock spat her name harshly. She turned her chin over her shoulder to address Lestrade.

"No, Jim was not one of my clients. He was a friend." She yanked her arm from Sherlock's grasp. She went back into the kitchen with her empty tea cup.

"A friend who you slept with?" Lestrade wondered shifting in his seat.

"A very close friend. He was new in town. He was home sick." She placed the tea cup in the sink running water inside it before violently shutting the faucet off. She snatched a dish rag. "He was always quite lovely. Had some mystery to him. Never could tell what that little rascal was up to." She went to Sherlock patting his stomach. "He was good people." She smiled at him.

"Were you aware that James Moriarty was a wanted man?" He let information slip soundly. Lestrade knew of this. Sherlock was aware, but he was shocked by how willingly he gave out the information that Jim had fled his homeland for crimes he committed during the ongoing Irish War of Independence.

"Sweet Jim? No." Her words were very unconvincing.

"When was the last night you saw him?" Lestrade asked.

"I feel like it was last Sunday." The woman nodded softly. "Yes, last Sunday. I know because the church bells sounded when he came inside me." She said it very smugly causing something to catch in Lestrade's throat. "I was late for a shift so I had to hurry him out. He was off to get some business done in town. He came by St. Bart's to see how I was." She motioned to her coffee table. There was a vase with a wilting set of orchids. "Gave me those lovely things as a thank you. Jim was always sweet. A sweet well-mannered lover."

"Did anyone of your – clients – know you were having relations with Jim Moriarty?" Lestrade choked out. She looked at him narrowly pivoting her body toward him.

"I don't have sex with my clients, Detective." She seemed insulted.

"I didn't mean to –"

"All you men think playing leads to sex. It's not that simple." She shook her head looking to Sherlock. She felt his chest. "I bet you'd be fun to play with." She stroked his cheekbones. "I could cut myself slapping that face." She tickled his cheek teasing him a bit.

"Who knew you and Moriarty slept together?" Sherlock remained stern.

"Well, Miss Hooper." She laughed to herself a bit. "She sees all my affairs go on." She leaned forward to whisper in the consulting detective's ear. "I think she gets off on it." She thought to herself. "My landlady, but she's ancient and blind. Always said his voice sounded soft. Always knew when he was coming up for a visit. Told us to keep it down. Jim could always get the best noises out of me." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What? Am I making you uncomfortable? Is sex uncomfortable to the great Sherlock Homes?"

"Sex doesn't alarm me." It was natural to Sherlock. Something people did for release or sentiment. He had no need for sentiment and release was just as well achieved with himself, so he saw no reason to engage in such matters. "But you have no jealous lovers willing to take out Moriarty?" He popped the name loudly.

"Jim knew I had others. He respected that. He just wanted some fun."

"Do you know what business he was into?" Lestrade asked.

"Illegal dealings I suspect." The woman mused. "I suspect that's why he never told me about anything he did. Was he making moonshine or dealing arms? Or both? Both would be rather exciting." She gleamed in a similar way that morgue assistant had done when she saw the body.

"That's quite classified Ms. Adler." Lestrade stood up suddenly. He waved Sherlock away from the woman. "We're done here. Thank you for your time. We'll be in touch." Sherlock looked to the woman who grabbed him tightly to whisper in his ear.

"You need to find where he worked. You know that's what got him that bullet."

He stared at her for a long while before following Lestrade out who didn't say anything until they were out the door.

"Do you usually piss off everyone you meet?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock touched his nose wincing. It still ached.

"Usually, yes." He tilted his head sideways.

"Well we're out of this. Out of luck." Lestrade shook his head. The night sky was coming down. "I'm calling it a night. We can pick up on the trail tomorrow morning." The graying man looking to Sherlock one eye squinted. "You got yourself a place to stay? Hotel?" Sherlock nodded. "Good." Lestrade held out his hand. Sherlock shook it. "You're a right pain in the arse Sherlock Holmes, but that's the most I've gotten on this case since I started." He went to wave for a taxi. Sherlock watched him.

"Sorry about your partner." Lestrade paused slightly as a cab pulled up.

"We'll spilt this then." He seemed to ignore the words as he got inside of it.

Their cab ride was met in silence. Lestrade got out first at the station. He merely tapped the cab to let them drive off. Lestrade had been someone Sherlock had noted from the very beginning was grieving. He could note the gestures and postures of individuals in grief. He could not really understand it to well, but he knew it was an emotion that hindered people, that wretched through people. Apologizing for a death was something many people did. Lestrade was alone, not dragging a partner along. Sherlock knew what it was like to be absent a partner. He continued to mentally cuss John Watson, his former roommate and current biographer for not having the guts to come with him or be away from his new wife. Sherlock knew Mary would have loved the excitement.

"Why have we stopped?" Sherlock asked. Then sighed loudly once he saw the blackness around him. "Oh bugger." A large figure came from either side of the staled cab. Sherlock attempted to wiggled free, but it was no use. The consulting detective was physically out matched, beaten until he saw stars then had a bag placed over his head before he could see nothing else.

But black.

Molly Hooper's arms were crossed over her heavy dark coat, actually correction, his heavy dark coat. Her lips were stained a brilliant pink as she smiled at him shrugging into herself. She didn't stand with confidence as she walked to him, but Sherlock knew there was nothing on this Earth this woman felt she could not conquer. She was not like the Adler woman. No this woman was not ashamed of what she was. She wore her sins with pride. She let her eyes settle on his carefully, delicately. She snatched his chin raising it up to her.

"Hello Sherlock Holmes." She sounded delighted to say the words. "You're going to help me solve a murder."

"You didn't kill Jim." Sherlock slowly realized. "You – hired me. You're the one."

"Clever boy." She patted his cheekbones. "Much better then Jim. I think we'll see how you work out. If you clear my name you might get to keep all your bones intact." She fluttered her eyes a bit at him. "You do know who I am now, right? No question about it. No doubts?"

"Yes." He nodded softly. Her eyes turned to her two men. She waved her hand at them. They stepped away from the Holmes boy.

"Go on." She asked intrigued.

"Your father owns the hospital." He started. "He lost quite a bit of money in bad investments. Owed the wrong people money. So he lent out his hospital as a way for those people to meet his debt. He did, but they had some issues with the staff. Trusting the staff. People on his payroll were stealing so he put you charge. He could trust you and those men trusted you. Sweet innocent Molly Hooper, interested more in the dead then in the living. You started organizing it all. You were good at it. Very good at it. They saw the profits and were delighted. You brought in Jim. He might have offered his assistance in exchange for safety from the law. You let him have it. You knew he could do it, but something happened. You fought with him perhaps about money. Maybe you were ready to turn him in."

"I don't break my promises Mr. Holmes." She folded her arms looking him dead in the eyes.

"Someone framed you. A rival of yours. Someone who wants to see you in prison." Sherlock breathed out feeling his body start to ache.

"We should get you looked at." She motioned for the two men to come forward.

"Wait," He breathed head down exhausted. Her hand lifted staying them. "Did I get it right?" He looked up completely in wonder at the story. She smiled.

"Yes, most," She met him at his level. "All that about my father and I is true. You got confused about some parts with Jim." She cradled Sherlock's chin. "I studied at a girl's school in London. Jim's father was a professor there. I used to see him on the grounds. He took a bit of a fancy to me I think. When we got into the business of crimes I got into my research and his name found its way across the lips of many people." She tickled her own lips with her loose fingers. "James Moriarty, the consulting criminal." She smiled. "Naturally I had to find him. He needed safe passage and I needed alcohol and firearms. He gave me that and much more." Her smile was sweet.

"It wasn't Irene." Sherlock realized. "It was you."

"Ms. Adler." She corrected standing up, but still holding the consulting detective's chin. "No, she wasn't his type." She stroked Sherlock's cheek trailing her fingers over his nose. He winced. "He still fancied me, but we kept it strictly professional, most of the time, mind you. We did our business dealings at Irene's place. Had a bit of an alibi if things went sour. People usually don't dig too further into affairs when it comes to sexual exploits." She let go of his chin. "We fought a bit. Prices of arms mostly. He didn't think he was getting a fair deal. I thought it was about money, but he said we were putting it in the wrong hands. We were selling to people who wanted to protect themselves, not people who wanted destruction." She shook her head. "He wanted death. He wanted so much of it, it scared me. Terrified me. He was mad." She closed her eyes. "I may be doing illegal things Mr. Holmes, but I am no killer." Molly shook her head. "I had all the reason in the world to kill James Moriarty after that night, but I swear to you I didn't."

He could see her innocence shine through. He believed her because despite that she had been mourning him. Despite how evil she had made him out to be she still had reddened puffy eyes.

"I will solve this murder, Miss Hooper." He nodded softly. She looked between her two men signaling them to get her consulting detective in working order.

**A/N:** Raise your hand if you were surprised of Molly's role in this deal! So we're going to have some heavy Sherlock and Molly bonding moments not to mention some mentions of some Moriarty and Molly moments.


End file.
